On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were in the midst of COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy four-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. After a student within my school district overdosed from a vaping solution laced with fentanyl, I began thinking of what I could do as a community member, and fellow classmate, to prevent this from happening again. I found an internship at a nearby hospital to work with a researcher specifically targeting teen nicotine and tobacco usage. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space. I am currently a Freshman at Case Western Reserve University and am eager to learn about the Nursing community, as well as participate in research on campus.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were in the midst of COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy four-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. After a student within my school district overdosed from a vaping solution laced with fentanyl, I began thinking of what I could do as a community member, and fellow classmate, to prevent this from happening again. I found an internship at a nearby hospital to work with a researcher specifically targeting teen nicotine and tobacco usage. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight for his life. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were in the midst of COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy four-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. Due to COVID policies, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the impact these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As I pursue my nursing degree, this scholarship will give me the ability to spend additional time outside the classroom, shadowing and volunteering in clinical settings. Rather than having to work considerable hours at a part-time job unrelated to my future career, I’ll have more opportunities to interact with patients and get to know their backgrounds, concerns, and challenges. Ultimately, I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health, but their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. I believe spending more time with patients during my education will help position me to deliver on this ambition.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. Due to COVID policies, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the impact these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I wanted to have the same impact on others. As I pursue my nursing degree, this scholarship will give me the ability to spend additional time outside the classroom shadowing and volunteering in clinical settings. Rather than working considerable hours at a part-time job unrelated to my future career, I’ll have more opportunities to interact with patients and get to know their backgrounds, concerns, and challenges. Ultimately, I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. I believe spending more time with patients during my education will help position me to deliver on this ambition.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me and I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. Due to COVID policies, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the impact these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I wanted to have the same impact on others. As I pursue my nursing degree, this scholarship will give me the ability to spend additional time outside the classroom shadowing and volunteering in clinical settings. Rather than working considerable hours at a part-time job unrelated to my future career, I’ll have more opportunities to interact with patients and get to know their backgrounds, concerns, and challenges. Ultimately, I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. I believe spending more time with patients during my education will help position me to deliver on this ambition.

It didn’t matter that he slobbered when he ate and had a big round belly, I was in love. I remember the morning I met Pie…walking through a carpet of thick, dewy grass and seeing him standing at the back of the pasture. I remember how he felt underneath me as I was guided on my first ride, his heft, and strength counterbalanced by his warm, soft coat. As a six-year-old, I’m not sure there’s anything that would have made me happier. I was hooked. For the next 8 years, I experienced life as a ‘horse girl’…multiple lessons during the week, and hunter/jumper competitions on the weekends. I committed myself and quickly progressed. I met wonderful friends across the country who shared my passion. I served as a junior editor for Young Rider magazine. Equestrian life defined me; it was what I did and who I was. It was the fall of my sophomore year when I felt the first twinge of pain in my lower back. For the first few months, I dismissed it as an acute injury, perhaps a muscle pull. Riding became slightly uncomfortable, but I tried to ignore it. Unfortunately, the pain became worse and started to bother me even when I was resting in bed. I began to have episodes of tremors in my legs and arms. During one such event, I almost fell down the steps at school. It became too painful to continue riding. What I loved had been ripped away by a strange, frustrating pain. Over the next two years, we visited a long line of specialists… multiple orthopedists, a neurologist, a rheumatologist, and an expert at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Every inch of my spine was imaged, and multiple rounds of bloodwork were ordered. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong. No surgery would heal me. No therapy that would relax my muscles. No pill that could take away the pain. They finally settled on a diagnosis…Amplified Musculoskeletal Pain Syndrome (AMPS). Essentially, my spinal cord was short-circuiting, causing normal stimuli to be interpreted as painful. Not being able to ride, I suddenly had much more time on my hands. I established a friend network outside of my normal circle of friends. I felt enriched by spending time with friends from diverse backgrounds. I did things on the weekends that I normally wouldn’t have done. I began to get involved with activities at school that I didn’t have time for before. I discovered interests and passions I didn’t know I had. I was no longer just a ‘horse girl’. My world grew and blossomed. I found an interest in leadership and service. I became a leader in my school’s Mini-Thon, a volunteer at a local hospital, and a mentor to struggling elementary school students. My first-hand interactions with numerous healthcare providers further encouraged my interest in a healthcare career. I participated in programs for students interested in healthcare fields. My experience with chronic pain helped me become more sympathetic towards my peers dealing with physical and emotional challenges. When a student in my school district nearly overdosed on a vaping solution laced with fentanyl, I was motivated to seek out a research internship at the Penn State College of Medicine, so I could conduct insightful research into e-cigarette use at my school. Over the past year, I’ve found exercise routines that help make my pain more manageable. Recently, I’ve even been able to ride a little. I might still be a ‘horse girl’ at heart, but I’ve learned that I’m also a leader, a mentor, and a compassionate friend. My battle with AMPS has unearthed determination and strength I didn’t know I had. Perhaps not the exciting outcome that six-year-old me would have wanted, but one that I’m proud of and grateful for.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

Sitting on a shelf in my bookcase, wrapped in a glossy green cover, is one of my favorite childhood books, The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. Silverstein tells a story about a tree that sacrifices itself to meet the self-serving demands of a greedy boy. The boy wants and takes from the tree, forever in the pursuit of material possessions he thinks will bring him happiness, but never does. In this way, the boy represents our society, driven by ambition and fixated on personal gain…taking without thought to giving. We can see evidence of this in the impact we’ve had on the environment, politics, and even healthcare. When a hospital spends tens of millions to build a palatial new expansion, yet sends uninsured patients to bill collectors, they grab an apple. When a clinic prioritizes the volume of patient visits over the quality of care, they sever a limb. When a health plan cuts a deal with a drug company to keep a brand name product on the formulary instead of a less expensive generic, they defoliate a branch. I hope to use my nursing degree to stand in contrast to the taking that has become too common in our modern healthcare system. Nurses have been voted as America’s most trusted profession for a record 21 straight years. 80% of U.S. adults view nurses as having “high” or “very high” standards for ethics and honesty. This gives us a voice. When we speak out about what is right and wrong with the healthcare system, I believe people will listen. We can, and should, be using our voice to serve those whose words are too often ignored or marginalized. Besides using my voice as a nurse to serve others, I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. All over the world, in all different areas of medicine, research is needed. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space. In The Giving Tree, after the boy had finished all his taking, only the tree’s stump remained. When I finish my career, I hope my contributions will have helped create fertile soil for an improved healthcare system and positive patient outcomes.

When I was six, I fell in love with horses. For the next eight years, I experienced life as a ‘horse girl’…multiple lessons during the week, and hunter/jumper competitions on the weekends. Equestrian life defined me; it was what I did and who I was. During the fall of my sophomore year, I felt a twinge of pain in my lower back. For the first few months, I dismissed it as a simple injury, perhaps a muscle pull. Riding became slightly uncomfortable, but I tried to ignore it. Unfortunately, the pain became worse and started to bother me even when I was resting in bed. I began to have episodes of tremors in my legs and arms. During one such event, I almost fell down the steps at school. It became too painful to continue riding. What I loved had been ripped away by a strange, frustrating pain. Over the next two years, we visited a long line of specialists… multiple orthopedists, a neurologist, a rheumatologist, and an expert at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Every inch of my spine was imaged, and multiple rounds of bloodwork were ordered. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong. No surgery would heal me. No therapy that would relax my muscles. No pill that could take away the pain. They finally settled on a diagnosis…Amplified Musculoskeletal Pain Syndrome (AMPS). Essentially, my spinal cord was short-circuiting, causing normal stimuli to be interpreted as painful. Not being able to ride, I suddenly had much more time on my hands. I established a friend network outside of my normal circle of friends. I felt enriched by spending time with friends from diverse backgrounds. I did things on the weekends that I normally wouldn’t have done. I began to get involved with activities at school that I didn’t have time for before. I discovered interests and passions I didn’t know I had. I was no longer just a ‘horse girl’. My world grew and blossomed. I found an interest in leadership and service. I became a leader in my school’s Mini-Thon, a volunteer at a local hospital, and a mentor to struggling elementary school students. My experience with chronic pain helped me become more sympathetic towards my peers dealing with physical and emotional challenges. When a student in my school district nearly overdosed on a vaping solution laced with fentanyl, I was motivated to seek out a research internship at the Penn State College of Medicine, so I could conduct insightful research into e-cigarette use at my school. Over the past year, I’ve found exercise routines that help make my pain more manageable. Recently, I’ve even been able to ride a little. I might still be a ‘horse girl’ at heart, but I’ve learned that I’m also a leader, a mentor, and a compassionate friend. My battle with AMPS has unearthed determination and strength I didn’t know I had. Perhaps not the exciting outcome that six-year-old me would have wanted, but one that I’m proud of and grateful for.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

When I was six, I fell in love with horses. For the next eight years, I experienced life as a ‘horse girl’…multiple lessons during the week, and hunter/jumper competitions on the weekends. Equestrian life defined me; it was what I did and who I was. During the fall of my sophomore year, I felt a twinge of pain in my lower back. For the first few months, I dismissed it as a simple injury, perhaps a muscle pull. Riding became slightly uncomfortable, but I tried to ignore it. Unfortunately, the pain became worse and started to bother me even when I was resting in bed. I began to have episodes of tremors in my legs and arms. During one such event, I almost fell down the steps at school. It became too painful to continue riding. What I loved had been ripped away by a strange, frustrating pain. Over the next two years, we visited a long line of specialists… multiple orthopedists, a neurologist, a rheumatologist, and an expert at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Every inch of my spine was imaged, and multiple rounds of bloodwork were ordered. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong. No surgery would heal me. No therapy that would relax my muscles. No pill that could take away the pain. They finally settled on a diagnosis…Amplified Musculoskeletal Pain Syndrome (AMPS). Essentially, my spinal cord was short-circuiting, causing normal stimuli to be interpreted as painful. Not being able to ride, I suddenly had much more time on my hands. I established a friend network outside of my normal circle of friends. I felt enriched by spending time with friends from diverse backgrounds. I did things on the weekends that I normally wouldn’t have done. I began to get involved with activities at school that I didn’t have time for before. I discovered interests and passions I didn’t know I had. I was no longer just a ‘horse girl’. My world grew and blossomed. I found an interest in leadership and service. I became a leader in my school’s Mini-Thon, a volunteer at a local hospital, and a mentor to struggling elementary school students. My experience with chronic pain helped me become more sympathetic towards my peers dealing with physical and emotional challenges. When a student in my school district nearly overdosed on a vaping solution laced with fentanyl, I was motivated to seek out a research internship at the Penn State College of Medicine, so I could conduct insightful research into e-cigarette use at my school. Over the past year, I’ve found exercise routines that help make my pain more manageable. Recently, I’ve even been able to ride a little. I might still be a ‘horse girl’ at heart, but I’ve learned that I’m also a leader, a mentor, and a compassionate friend. My battle with AMPS has unearthed determination and strength I didn’t know I had. Perhaps not the exciting outcome that six-year-old me would have wanted, but one that I’m proud of and grateful for.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

My name is Audrey Markievich and I am from Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania. I will be majoring in Nursing at Case Western Reserve University. Sitting on a shelf in my bookcase, wrapped in a glossy green cover, is one of my favorite childhood books, The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. Silverstein tells a story about a tree that sacrifices itself to meet the self-serving demands of a greedy boy. The boy wants and takes from the tree, forever in the pursuit of material possessions he thinks will bring him happiness, but never does. In this way, the boy represents our society, driven by ambition and fixated on personal gain…taking without thought to giving. We can see evidence of this in the impact we’ve had on the environment, politics, and even healthcare. When a hospital spends tens of millions to build a palatial new expansion, yet sends uninsured patients to bill collectors, they grab an apple. When a clinic prioritizes the volume of patient visits over the quality of care, they sever a limb. When a health plan cuts a deal with a drug company to keep a brand name product on the formulary instead of a less expensive generic, they defoliate a branch. I hope to use my nursing degree to stand in contrast to the taking that has become too common in our modern healthcare system. Nurses have been voted as America’s most trusted profession for a record 21 straight years. 80% of U.S. adults view nurses as having “high” or “very high” standards for ethics and honesty. This gives us a voice. When we speak out about what is right and wrong with the healthcare system, I believe people will listen. We can, and should, be using our voice to serve those whose words are too often ignored or marginalized. Besides using my voice as a nurse to serve others, I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space. In The Giving Tree, after the boy had finished all his taking, only the tree’s stump remained. When I finish my career, I hope my contributions will have helped create fertile soil for an improved healthcare system and positive patient outcomes.

When I was six, I fell in love with horses. For the next eight years, I experienced life as a ‘horse girl’…multiple lessons during the week, and hunter/jumper competitions on the weekends. Equestrian life defined me; it was what I did and who I was. During the fall of my sophomore year, I felt a twinge of pain in my lower back. For the first few months, I dismissed it as a simple injury, perhaps a muscle pull. Riding became slightly uncomfortable, but I tried to ignore it. Unfortunately, the pain became worse and started to bother me even when I was resting in bed. I began to have episodes of tremors in my legs and arms. During one such event, I almost fell down the steps at school. It became too painful to continue riding. What I loved had been ripped away by a strange, frustrating pain. Over the next two years, we visited a long line of specialists… multiple orthopedists, a neurologist, a rheumatologist, and an expert at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Every inch of my spine was imaged, and multiple rounds of bloodwork were ordered. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong. No surgery would heal me. No therapy that would relax my muscles. No pill that could take away the pain. They finally settled on a diagnosis…Amplified Musculoskeletal Pain Syndrome (AMPS). Essentially, my spinal cord was short-circuiting, causing normal stimuli to be interpreted as painful. Not being able to ride, I suddenly had much more time on my hands. I established a friend network outside of my normal circle of friends. I felt enriched by spending time with friends from diverse backgrounds. I did things on the weekends that I normally wouldn’t have done. I began to get involved with activities at school that I didn’t have time for before. I discovered interests and passions I didn’t know I had. I was no longer just a ‘horse girl’. My world grew and blossomed. I found an interest in leadership and service. I became a leader in my school’s Mini-Thon, a volunteer at a local hospital, and a mentor to struggling elementary school students. My experience with chronic pain helped me become more sympathetic towards my peers dealing with physical and emotional challenges. When a student in my school district nearly overdosed on a vaping solution laced with fentanyl, I was motivated to seek out a research internship at the Penn State College of Medicine, so I could conduct insightful research into e-cigarette use at my school. Over the past year, I’ve found exercise routines that help make my pain more manageable. Recently, I’ve even been able to ride a little. I might still be a ‘horse girl’ at heart, but I’ve learned that I’m also a leader, a mentor, and a compassionate friend. My battle with AMPS has unearthed determination and strength I didn’t know I had. Perhaps not the exciting outcome that six-year-old me would have wanted, but one that I’m proud of and grateful for.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. Due to COVID policies, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the impact these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I wanted to have the same impact on others. As I pursue my nursing degree, this scholarship will give me the ability to spend additional time outside the classroom shadowing and volunteering in clinical settings. Rather than working considerable hours at a part-time job unrelated to my future career, I’ll have more opportunities to interact with patients and get to know their backgrounds, concerns, and challenges. Ultimately, I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. I believe spending more time with patients during my education will help position me to deliver on this ambition.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. Due to COVID policies, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the impact these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I wanted to have the same impact on others. As I pursue my nursing degree, this scholarship will give me the ability to spend additional time outside the classroom shadowing and volunteering in clinical settings. Rather than working considerable hours at a part-time job unrelated to my future career, I’ll have more opportunities to interact with patients and get to know their backgrounds, concerns, and challenges. Ultimately, I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. I believe spending more time with patients during my education will help position me to deliver on this ambition.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

When I was six, I fell in love with horses. For the next eight years, I experienced life as a ‘horse girl’…multiple lessons during the week, and hunter/jumper competitions on the weekends. Equestrian life defined me; it was what I did and who I was. During the fall of my sophomore year, I felt a twinge of pain in my lower back. For the first few months, I dismissed it as a simple injury, perhaps a muscle pull. Riding became slightly uncomfortable, but I tried to ignore it. Unfortunately, the pain became worse and started to bother me even when I was resting in bed. I began to have episodes of tremors in my legs and arms. During one such event, I almost fell down the steps at school. It became too painful to continue riding. What I loved had been ripped away by a strange, frustrating pain. Over the next two years, we visited a long line of specialists… multiple orthopedists, a neurologist, a rheumatologist, and an expert at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Every inch of my spine was imaged, and multiple rounds of bloodwork were ordered. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong. No surgery would heal me. No therapy that would relax my muscles. No pill that could take away the pain. They finally settled on a diagnosis…Amplified Musculoskeletal Pain Syndrome (AMPS). Essentially, my spinal cord was short-circuiting, causing normal stimuli to be interpreted as painful. Not being able to ride, I suddenly had much more time on my hands. I established a friend network outside of my normal circle of friends. I felt enriched by spending time with friends from diverse backgrounds. I did things on the weekends that I normally wouldn’t have done. I began to get involved with activities at school that I didn’t have time for before. I discovered interests and passions I didn’t know I had. I was no longer just a ‘horse girl’. My world grew and blossomed. I found an interest in leadership and service. I became a leader in my school’s Mini-Thon, a volunteer at a local hospital, and a mentor to struggling elementary school students. My experience with chronic pain helped me become more sympathetic towards my peers dealing with physical and emotional challenges. When a student in my school district nearly overdosed on a vaping solution laced with fentanyl, I was motivated to seek out a research internship at the Penn State College of Medicine, so I could conduct insightful research into e-cigarette use at my school. Over the past year, I’ve found exercise routines that help make my pain more manageable. Recently, I’ve even been able to ride a little. I might still be a ‘horse girl’ at heart, but I’ve learned that I’m also a leader, a mentor, and a compassionate friend. My battle with AMPS has unearthed determination and strength I didn’t know I had. Perhaps not the exciting outcome that six-year-old me would have wanted, but one that I’m proud of and grateful for.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. Due to COVID policies, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the impact these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I wanted to have the same impact on others. As I pursue my nursing degree, this scholarship will give me the ability to spend additional time outside the classroom shadowing and volunteering in clinical settings. Rather than working considerable hours at a part-time job unrelated to my future career, I’ll have more opportunities to interact with patients and get to know their backgrounds, concerns, and challenges. Ultimately, I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. I believe spending more time with patients during my education will help position me to deliver on this ambition.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. Due to COVID policies, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the impact these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I wanted to have the same impact on others. As I pursue my nursing degree, this scholarship will give me the ability to spend additional time outside the classroom shadowing and volunteering in clinical settings. Rather than working considerable hours at a part-time job unrelated to my future career, I’ll have more opportunities to interact with patients and get to know their backgrounds, concerns, and challenges. Ultimately, I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. I believe spending more time with patients during my education will help position me to deliver on this ambition.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.

On August 2, 2020, my stepmother was rushed into the OR to have an emergency C-section. Her body was beginning to fail, and it was time for the baby to come, four months early. The doctors had told her that she needed to be prepared to say goodbye, but my brother came into this world ready to fight. My brother, Evan, weighed only 13 ounces at birth and was in the NICU at Penn State Hershey Medical Center for 165 days. While we were amid COVID-19, my parents went and visited him every day, but I was not allowed. For 165 days, I watched my little brother battle to survive through a phone screen. He had dozens of procedures and surgeries performed to keep him alive. I would often have conversations with my parents about the individuals on Evan’s care team. While I heard about the surgeons, neonatologists, and respiratory therapists, it was always the nurses they talked about the most. Evan’s treatment plan was primarily designed by the medical team, but it was the nurses, and nurse practitioners, who executed that plan. They were by his side 24 hours a day, monitoring his breathing, administering medication, and comforting him. They were the individuals my parents called in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep and wanted to check-in. These nurses dared to believe that a 13-ounce baby would live. They dared to believe that a baby whose lungs were subjected to months of ventilator assistance would one day breathe on their own. They dared to believe that his intestines, parts of which were disjoined and diseased, would one day function independently. Today, Evan is a happy, healthy three-year-old. I love him so much. While some developmental challenges remain, he is a very personal reminder of what can happen when have bold ambitions. After seeing the miracle and the impact that these professionals had on my baby brother, I knew that the healthcare field was meant for me; I want to have the same impact on others. As a nurse, I will have the unique opportunity to serve patients during some of the most challenging times of their lives. I hope to model the principle of cura personalis, recognizing that I have the ability not only to impact my patients’ physical health but also their whole person. I want patients to leave our time together feeling valued, important, and cared for. It’s often the subtle acts of service that have the biggest impact…listening, holding a hand, helping someone laugh, or offering words of affirmation. Not only do I intend to serve others individually in a clinical setting, but I also aspire to serve society broadly through research. My experience as a Research Intern at the Penn State College of Medicine has ignited an excitement for research that I hope to carry into my career. In medicine, our knowledge base and treatment approaches should always be improving and expanding, and I want to make contributions in this space.